


safe in his arms

by gabrielledarling



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, It is now, Light Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, is that a thing?, panic disorder, self-indulgent hurt/comfort, twenty-something boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 12:10:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18094049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabrielledarling/pseuds/gabrielledarling
Summary: "enjolras gets panic attacks, but as a really private person, he’s never told anyone. so, each time it happens, he suffers by himself. a few months into dating grantaire, the latter comes home to find enjolras sitting on the couch..." -tumblr prompt(AKA: i filled my own prompt & i regret nothing.)





	safe in his arms

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so, so sorry for the cheesy title. here's where you can find the original post: https://enjolred.tumblr.com/post/182746153696/enjolras-gets-panic-attacks-but-as-a-really

It was a broken record, playing over and over in Enjolras' head. It had started as soon as he'd heard the key in the door; it was a litany, a prayer:  _Grantaire wasn't supposed to see me like this. I wasn't supposed to_ let _Grantaire see me like this. W_ _asn't supposed to, wasn't supposed to, wasn't—_

"Enjolras? You home?"

Enjolras' field of vision was limited to the triangle between his legs. He was sitting on the wooden chair in the kitchen, his head between his knees, hands buried in his hair. He liked to touch his hair, his skin, when his brain was drinking through thoughts like teenage Enjolras in his parents' liquor cabinet. It reminded him that he was flesh-and-blood; a person whose body was self-regulating—breathing, blood pumping, fighting infections—even as his mind turned over and over like a bottle in a churning ocean.

 _Relaxrelaxrelax,_ Enjolras thought. _He's just a person. He gets that I'm a person. People have problems. I have problems. He knows I'm not a God._

_I'm not a God. He knows._

_Relaxrelaxrelax._

There was a squeak; Grantaire's sneaker on the tile floor of the kitchen. Then, "Ohmygod, Enjolras? Are you okay?"

Enjolras wanted to answer, wanted to answer with everything in him, but the words wouldn't come. His throat felt swollen. He held up a hand, made a gesture like, _so-so._

"Are you crying?"

A half-snort escaped Enjolras' nose before he can stop it, and he felt awful. He managed to shake his head.

"Are you—um—panicking?"

Enjolras' heart skipped. _Grantaire knows. He knows what's happening to me. How does he know?_

"Enj?"

Enjolras managed a miniscule nod.

"Can I touch you?"

Another nod.

Enjolras could hear Grantaire's sneakers squeak on the floor—squeak, squeak, squeak—and then there was a warm, heavy hand on his shoulder. It felt different than his own hands in his hair. A thought jolted through him, heavy like lightning: _Nobody's seen me like this. Nobody, not one other human person, has seen me like this, much less touched me._

He didn't have time to think about how that thought made him feel, because Grantaire's was tucking his hands under Enjolras' arms, and he wasn't commenting on the dampness.

"Can you get up? Can we go sit on the couch?"

Enjolras didn't move; he was frozen, an ice-man.

"Enjy? Let's go to the couch, okay?"

Enjolras inhaled; blew out through his mouth. "Okay," he croaked. He could feel his cheeks warming at the way his voice sounds after hours of disuse.

He let Grantaire guide him to standing; the blood rushed through his body, and his vision blackened for a second...two...three…

When it cleared, Grantaire was at his back, one hand on his waist, leading him into the living room. The whole apartment was dark—Enjolras hadn't bothered to turn on the lights when he arrived home. In fact, he was still wearing his jacket and shoes. He'd pulled off his scarf and left it when he'd gotten too hot—had he left it…?

Enjolras glanced back toward the kitchen, stopped walking.

"What?" Grantaire was still behind him.

"My scarf," Enjolras said, voice rough.

"You can pick it up later."

Enjolras nodded and let Grantaire guide him onto the couch.

"I'm gonna sit behind you now. And I'm gonna hug you really tightly. Is that okay?"

Enjolras nodded, and suddenly Grantaire's warm body was lined up against his, chest to back. Grantaire's arms— _strong_ —wrapped around his chest and his hands clasped over Enjolras' heart.

It was seconds before Enjolras realized that Grantaire was talking to him. Well, not _talking_ , exactly—murmuring, almost to himself, but the words were directed at him. "...got you, you're safe, you're okay, we're in your apartment...you're safe here. I've got you."

Grantaire didn't let go, not for ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. He rested his chin at the top of Enjolras' spine, his reassuring monologue fading in and out. Slowly, Enjolras let go of his hair. His scalp prickled; he'd been holding on tighter than he thought. He felt Grantaire's cheek against the back of his neck.

When Enjolras' breathing evened, he barely noticed. He felt like jelly in Grantaire's arms, smelling his cologne and sweat and caustic paint-smell.

"You're like a furnace," he said, and he felt Grantaire's mouth curve against his neck.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes," Enjolras said.

There was a pause; then, "Enjolras. You didn't tell me you get panic attacks. You could've told me. I've known people who get them. I know how to...I mean, I can be there for you. I want to be."

Enjolras turned in Grantaire's arms. "I'm sorry," he said, and the tension on Grantaire's face eased a little. Enjolras had learned, early in their relationship, that Grantaire would always rather he accept help, would rather he acknowledge his troubles, than keep them hidden. And he'd gotten better at it, but…

"I'm sorry. I've never told anyone."

Grantaire's blue eyes widened, and Enjolras felt that gut-wrenching feeling that accompanied being pitied.

"You never told anyone? How did you—how did you get through them?"

Enjolras just shrugged. "I just...did."

"Oh, _Enjolras_."

Enjolras must've made a face, because Grantaire scrunched up his own. Even when Enjolras was irritated with him, Grantaire was adorable. "Sorry."

"You know I don't like the 'Oh, _Enjolras_ ,'" Enjolras mumbled, already feeling his irritation weaning.

Grantaire nuzzled into Enjolras' shoulder. "I know, I know."

Enjolras laced his fingers through Grantaire's, still on his chest.

Grantaire raised his head. "D'you want me to let go?"

Enjolras leaned back into Grantaire's touch. "Not yet."

**Author's Note:**

> please leave kudos and/or a comment if this warmed your heart (even a little), it'll warm my heart (like a lot)


End file.
